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sailforvalinor · 1 month ago

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For Christmas ficlet!

Harry and Monty, fruitcake

-Rain

This takes place in my fix-it AU, where the Potters live, and Harry has a younger brother.

When Ron and Harry walked into the Potter’s kitchen on a cold afternoon a couple of days before Christmas, they found Monty sitting at the kitchen table, apparently contemplating a fruitcake. It sat on a plate in the center of the table, and a piece of foil sat beside it, as if it had just been unwrapped.

“Harry,” he said, not looking up, “fruitcake.”

“Oh, right,” said Harry, as if that told him everything he needed to know. He took a seat across from Monty, and also began contemplating the fruitcake just as intently as his brother.

“Um…fruitcake?” Ron echoed, bewildered. He studied the dessert in question. Nothing seemed particularly remarkable about it; it just appeared to be a normal round fruitcake—meaning that it looked stodgy and unappetizing.

Both of the boys were too lost in thought to answer Ron’s question. He noticed that while Harry looked excited, Monty had a bit of a grim set to his mouth. After a few seconds, Harry commented, “Looks pretty solid this year.”

“Yeah,” Monty agreed. There was another pause as they continued to think. “Take turns dropping it from our window?” Monty suggested.

“Boring,” Harry said.

“What?” Ron said. Was this fruitcake hexed? Cursed?

“Tug of war,” Harry said. “Tie two bits of string to it, whoever gets the bigger half—“

“—like a wishbone? Like the Americans do?”

“Yeah.”

“Not sure how you’d actually get the string to work…”

Just at that moment, Ginny came in from the sitting room. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Fruitcake,” Monty said.

“Ah.” Just like Harry, Ginny seemed to think this explained everything. Coming over to lean on the back of Monty’s chair, she also joined them in the contemplation of the fruitcake.

“Just what is going on here?” Ron asked.

“Sparklers,” she said after a moment. “Big ones. Stick a bunch in the top, light them, and—“

“—nobody wins at sparklers, Gin,” Monty said, crossing his arms.

“Everybody wins at sparklers, Fleamont.”

Monty raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Ron felt like he was losing his mind. “Is somebody going to tell me what in the name of Merlin is going on with this fruitcake?!” he exclaimed.

Suddenly, there was a loud CRACK, and with it came James Potter, apparating into the kitchen barely a foot from where Ron was standing. “Rejoice, boys, your fruitcake-y musings are over!” he exclaimed grandly. “For I have—ooh, sorry, Ron,” he said, noticing Ron having to stumble back. He patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here though,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “You’re just in time.”

Ron couldn’t help but grin back—Harry’s dad was just so cool. “With what, Mr. Potter? With the…” He floundered, unsure. “The fruitcake?” he asked tentatively.

James blinked in surprise. “What, Harry didn’t tell you?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “What, you don’t know?” He seemed genuinely shocked.

“Obviously not, mate.”

“Really? I could have sworn I’ve told you about this before…” Harry scratched the back of his head. “Well, the fruitcake’s from our Aunt Petunia. She and my mum don’t talk anymore. She’s kind of…anti-wizard.“

“—not to mention, anti-James,” James muttered under his breath, with a slight grin.

“She sends a fruitcake every Christmas, though,” Harry said.

“Honestly, I can’t tell if it’s meant to be a peace offering or hate mail,” Monty mused. Ginny snorted.

At Ron’s questioning look, Harry explained, “It’s absolutely horrible. It’s like eating chunky glue.”

“You would know,” Monty pointed out innocently.”

“That was a gluestick, and I was five. Anyway, you’d probably know better—you’re the one who always ends up eating it.”

Ron stared at Monty. “Why would you eat the fruitcake if it tastes like chunky glue?”

“Hey, I don’t eat it willingly,” Monty said. “We play a different game every year involving the fruitcake. Loser has to eat it. Or…” He turned slightly green. “Whatever’s left of it.”

“What does the winner get?” Ron asked.

“They don’t have to eat the fruitcake,” Harry said, as if it was obvious.

“Oh.” It all seemed a little bit masochistic to Ron, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Thank you for the explanation, boys,” James said. “Now, I hearby declare that this year’s Fruitcake Game has been decided!”

“It has?” Harry and Monty asked in unison.

“Fruitcake hockey!” It was then that Ron noticed that he’d leaned nine or ten hockey sticks against the wall as they were talking. How he hadn’t noticed him holding them when he’d apparated in, he had no idea. “Had the idea when I saw that the lake was frozen this morning. Encasing this thing in ice will make for a solid oversized hockey puck. I already invited Pads and Moony—Tonks, too,” he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Two teams—I bet your uncles can rig up something like nets—and Ron, Ginny, I’m sure we’ve got some skates that will fit you around here somewhere. Losing team has to split the fruitcake.”

“Cool!” Ron said.

“Wicked!” Harry exclaimed.

Monty, on the other hand, looked greener, if possible. Despite looking uncannily like a smaller version of James (sans-glasses), he hadn’t inherited many of his daredevil tendencies. “Do we actually have to use the fruitcake? Can’t we use an actual puck?”

“As per the rules of The Fruitcake Game—which I made up—no, the fruitcake must actually be integrated into the game for the game to be recognized as a valid Fruitcake Game,” James said, with matter-of-fact glee. “Freezing it might make it a little soggy when we’re done with it, but I’m not sure you could make it taste much worse.”

Ron blanched a little at the thought of eating soggy fruitcake, but it mostly served to fuel his desire not to lose. A glance at Harry and Ginny told him that they probably shared his sentiments, but Monty still seemed unconvinced.

“But Dad,” Monty protested, “did you actually look closely at the lake to see if it was safe for skating? Did you test it?”

“Well…no,” James admitted.

“Somebody could fall through!” Monty exclaimed.

Ron was surprised that Monty was getting so worked up over this whole thing—“worked up” and “Monty” weren’t usually words that went together. Then again, he was the overly cautious type, and, given his alleged track record with Fruitcake Games, was probably facing being forced to eat wet-chunky-glue-cake. A perfect storm.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” James suddenly knelt down in front of Monty and took his face in his hands. Ginny backed away from them a little, watching them with a mystified expression. “You, my son,” James said, with exaggerated solemnity, “are a wizard.” He pulled his wand out of his jacket and waggled it at him. “And so am I. And as wizards, we know little spells like Glacius.” At the incantation, a puff of mist shot out of the tip of his wand and hit the petal of a poinsettia sitting on the counter, covering it in ice.

Monty didn’t look impressed. “Dad, what if one of the Muggles sees you doing that?”

“You, my son,” James said, with the same level of gravitas, “are a wet blanket.”

“Mum,” Monty called, “Dad just called me a wet blanket!”

“Well, he is a little bit right,” Lily’s voice answered from upstairs.

“Mum!” Monty protested.

A moment later, she came downstairs and joined them in the kitchen. “Aww, but you’re my favorite wet blanket!” she said, pinching his cheek. “Does that make you feel better?”

“No,” Monty replied, turning slightly red. Ginny sniggered, and Monty turned redder.

“How was work, James?” Lily asked, as she relented and left her son alone.

James sprang to his feet. “Work was work, he said dismissively. “But you’re just in time, Evans!” He swooped in for a quick kiss on her cheek (to which she giggled like a schoolgirl), then turned to the fruitcake, rolling up his sleeves. “Time for the Fruitcake Game to commence!”

Just as he pointed his wand at the fruitcake, however, Lily plucked it out of his hand. “I’m afraid there will be no freezing of fruitcakes, boys, or any Fruitcake Games at all this year.”

“Huh?” Harry said.

“I…” Lily looked slightly nervous, then continued, “I invited Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley for dinner. Tonight.”

James stared at her blankly. “You did what?”

“But, they said no, right?” Harry asked.

Lily seemed to gather her strength. She straightened. “No, Harry, they said yes. And so, this fruitcake,” she said, wrapping the cake back up in its foil, “will remain untouched and undamaged until tonight, when we will all eat it. Understood?”

Ron watched as the blood slowly drained from James, Harry, and Monty’s faces. Whoa, he thought. How bad are these Muggles?

“Understood?” Lily repeated.

All three of them made affirming noises.

“Good,” she said. “Now, I want this place spotless in an hour and a half—I will not have my sister judging me for my housekeeping, whatever else she may judge me for.” She turned to Ron and Ginny. “You two are welcome to stay for dinner, of course.”

Ron briefly looked over at Harry, whose eyes were frantically telegraphing go! Run! Get out while you still can! “Umm, that’s alright,” Ron said awkwardly. “Mum wanted us home by dinner, anyway. Thanks for asking though, Mrs. Potter.”

As he and Ginny stood in front of the fireplace, getting ready to use the Floo network to get back home, Ron muttered, “I feel bad for Harry and Monty. Being stuck eating dinner with relatives that hate you had to be the worst way to spend the Monday before Christmas.”

“I’m sad to miss out, actually,” Ginny muttered back. “I think whatever happens at that table tonight is going to be far more exciting than fruitcake hockey.”

#sorry this is a bit late!!#I don’t know if this works or not I’ve been staring at it too long 😂#Harry Potter and the untitled fix-it au #and it kinda just turned into potter family shenanigans lol #harry potter #fleamont potter ii #ron weasley #ginny weasley #james potter #lily potter #lily evans #jily

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